Little Blue Box
by welcometotrenzalore
Summary: This is the story of the girl who met the Doctor.
1. Prologue

**Aiofe**

This is the story of the girl named Aiofe. Eee-fah, because everyone pronounces it wrong, don't you start too.

This is the story of the girl walking home from school in the rain. Freezing, too, because England is bloody cold in the winter.

This is the story of the girl who just turned seventeen a month ago. And glad, because it meant it was time to get out of the house soon.

This is the story of the girl who wanted to run away. Not all that seriously, but that thought had definitely crossed the mind before, though she wasn't so much unhappy as just bored.

This is the story of the girl who met the Doctor.


	2. Police Boxes

**Aiofe**

I'm used to the sky being gray. It's like that a lot, but usually there's blue in the distance, as if to remind you that it's okay, it will stop raining someday and maybe you'll even see the sun. My mates and I used to joke on those days when the sun did stay out for more than a few minutes that it was something foreign to us. Like we were vampires or creatures from under a bridge somewhere, where there was no sun.

Today, there is no blue. There is no sun. I can almost imagine that it doesn't exist, no more big ball of glowing yellow in the sky. It wouldn't be better that way, I know we would all die and there would be no more people, but I've always liked the rain and I wish it would stay gray for awhile longer. It might.

It's cold, as well, almost freezing, because it's the winter now, officially December twenty-second. And I didn't wear the proper coat, because I never do, much to my mother's dismay. She'll keep telling me that I'll get a cold and I'll keep telling her that I won't because colds aren't caused by being cold. And that'll start another fight and I'll stay in my room for three days straight again, only leaving to get food and use the toilet when they're all asleep.

It's raining now, and I can feel the icy droplets on my nose and hands, the only skin I've allowed to touch the air. I don't walk any faster because I'm nearly home. Just one more street to cross and I'll be back to the warmth of my house. Even if my mother happens to be sharing it as well.

I glance at the stop sign by the street corner. The rain is smearing the most recent graffiti, a blue box drawn on in washable marker. It was never meant to permanent. Many things are meant to last forever and then they don't, and others are meant to last a moment and last forever instead.

I step out into the road.

The car wheels around the corner, and I can't jump away anymore. It's too late.

It hits me, knocking me off balance. I fly across the road but I'm still awake, still breathing. The car screeches to a stop, and there are footsteps towards me. I can't move. I can't look at the people walking towards me.

I can't open my eyes.

"Perfect" a man says. "Think she'll be okay, mate?"

"Yeah, sure" a second man says. "Grab 'er. Into the van she goes."

One of them lifts me in his arms but he's not rescuing me, his touch is too rough for that. I'm being kidnapped. And I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

(-)

It's raining now, and I can feel the icy droplets on my nose and hands, the only skin I've allowed to touch the air. I don't walk any faster because I'm nearly home. Just one more street to cross and I'll be back to the warmth of my house. Even if my mother happens to be sharing it as well.

I glance at the stop sign by the street corner. The rain is smearing the most recent graffiti, a blue box drawn on in washable marker.

There's a noise from behind me like a motor, but not like any motor I've ever heard before. I turn around, graffiti forgotten.

A blue box is behind me now, one that certainly wasn't there a moment ago. It's a police box. I've seen one before, in London. Before cell phones, they were everywhere in the cities, for people to call the police directly if there was trouble. They're all gone now, except for the one in London, left for nostalgia's sake.

And this one. But this one isn't permanent, if it's even real at all, because it wasn't there a moment ago. Maybe I'm imagining it. I've walked this street before, every day, coming home from school, for years.

The door opens a fraction, and then a little more, and then someone steps out of it. He is careful to close it before I can see inside, I notice. What could be in a police box hallucination?

He is wearing a suit. Not a fancy black suit, but a suit nonetheless. It's blue, almost the same colour as the police box he's just stepped out of, and he's wearing a brown trench-coat over it.

"Pardon me, but who are you?" I ask him, just as he opens his mouth to say something. "And where did your police box come from? It doesn't belong there, you know."

"You're about to die" he says. No preamble, nothing. A complete stranger, stepping out from a police box that appeared out of nowhere, telling me that I'm going to die.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it happens to be a statement of fact. Actually, if you don't come with me right now, you will die. I'd prefer if that didn't happen, but I suppose it's your life. What shall it be, Aiofe? Stay or go, live or die? An easy choice if it were mine, but it isn't, is it?" He holds out a hand.

I take it.

I never told him my name, but I take his hand anyway, because really, what have I got to lose?

He pulls me into the police box.


End file.
